


Sleeping habits

by Lesatha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Brief mention of miscarriage, Everybody Lives, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not as much angst as in the show, that would be impossible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3908434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesatha/pseuds/Lesatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evolution of Ragnar's and Athelstan's relationship, seen through their sleeping habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping habits

For a long time, Athelstan spends his nights on his small cot, despite Ragnar’s many attempts to get him in his and Lagertha’s bed. Ragnar supposes he too would be wary if he were in the slave’s situation, though the priest’s strange God seems to have more to do with his refusal than wariness. He doesn’t often see fear in his slave’s eyes, after all.

Ragnar’s frustration is great, and it only gets worse when one morning he happens to catch a glimpse of Athelstan curled up under his covers and against the wall, face scrunched up in a frown. Ragnar hopes it is because of the chilly air rather than mistrust of his surroundings.

That evening, Athelstan accepts the extra fur Ragnar hands him with a surprised smile, but as the Northman feared it, the frown is still there the next morning.

***

Athelstan joins Ragnar’s bed when he least expects it, several days after they started hiding at Floki’s. One afternoon, Ragnar awakens to the sight of Athelstan kneeling down carefully at the edge of his bed. They are alone –Lagertha must be outside with the children and maybe Helga, while Floki… does what he usually does. No one can be sure about what it is.

Athelstan knots his fingers together when Ragnar raises a questioning eyebrow. He doesn’t know what is he questioning though: Athelstan’s sudden uneasiness or the fact that he is, well, on Ragnar’s bed.

“Can I… If you still want me to…” Athelstan mumbles, gaze fleeting between Ragnar’s face and his own knees.

Ragnar’s eyes widen with delight and he pushes the edge of his covers, extending one arm to greet Athelstan next to him. The slave sinks under the covers and tentatively plasters himself to Ragnar’s side. He moves as if to wrap an arm around the Northman’s chest, then seems to think better of it and settles a delicate hand on Ragnar’s uninjured shoulder.

None of them speaks, and Ragnar listens to Athelstan’s steady breathing until it slows down and gets deeper. Only then, he takes a glance at his slave’s face. He is still a bit tense in his sleep, but not frowning anymore. A smile stretches Ragnar’s lips as a peaceful sleep claims him.

***

They don’t share another bed until Ragnar defeats Haraldsson. Even then, a few days after they have moved in the Great Hall, Athelstan spends his nights in the room given to him.

“Can’t you see he doesn’t dare to ask?” Lagertha huffs.

“It didn’t seem to be such a big deal when he came to me for a nap,” Ragnar groans, exasperation making him sound more annoyed than he feels.

“You were almost dead,” Lagertha reminds him with a quick kiss on the ear. “Perhaps the fear of losing you made him bolder. Ask him.”

So Ragnar does, in the most inviting way possible. The last thing he wants is for Athelstan to feel contrived to obey. The priest doesn’t react, apart from a slight parting of his lips, and well, it was a nice try.

Though when Ragnar flops down next to Lagertha that night, wrapping his arms around her and ready to spend countless hours brewing over his defeat, the light padding of footsteps draws his attention to the entrance of their room. Where Athelstan stands, shy smile on his lips and fingers twitching at his sides. Lagertha shoots Ragnar a knowing grin while shifting aside to make room for Athelstan.

Athelstan climbs on the bed and settles between them with a graceful crawl –even if he seems totally unaware of how graceful and enticing it is.

To say the truth, they don’t sleep that much. Not right away at least. And when Athelstan collapses under their tangled limbs, all sweaty and panting, face in the crook of Lagertha’s neck, he is more pliant and relaxed than Ragnar has ever seen him. Any remaining tension escapes the little priest in a sigh as Ragnar curls around him.

Athelstan doesn’t return very often to his room after this night, which perfectly suits the three of them. Ragnar has his wife and his lover safe next to him, and the Gods couldn’t have granted him a greater blessing.

***

Of course it can’t last. Lagertha miscarries and then there is Uppsala. You’re supposed to give up something dear to you, right? Otherwise, a sacrifice has no value. The Gods should be satisfied –Athelstan is one of the best things that happened in Ragnar’s life. The day before the sacrifice, Ragnar realizes that he is jealous of them. Of the Gods. Soon they will have Athelstan, while Ragnar will have to forget about the little slave who hacked his way into his heart with innocent eyes and teasing grins. Yes, he will have to. It would be too shattering to remember.

Ragnar never thought Athelstan’s God would be strong enough to save him from Uppsala. Oh, he wished for it, sure. He just didn’t dare to hope it would happen.

If only Athelstan wouldn’t look at him with mistrust he never showed before, as if Ragnar were now a complete stranger. Lagertha tries to smooth him and explains that being sacrificed is an honour. That they care for him.

“I understand,” is the flat reply.

When they get back to Kattegat, Ragnar prays to the Gods that Athelstan won’t head for his own room, but they aren’t keen on allowing him such favour. Ragnar comes to a halt in the middle of the hall, then takes a deep breath and heads for Athelstan’s room. Lagertha shakes her head in a silent warning. That, added to the nagging voice in Ragnar’s head telling him it is a bad idea, should really be enough to make him retreat. Yet Athelstan has to understand.

Ragnar finds him sitting on his bed, facing away from the entrance, head hanging low. Ragnar sits behind him and after a moment of hesitation, puts his hand on Athelstan’s collarbone. He knew Athelstan wouldn’t melt into the touch like he always does, but he certainly did not expect him to recoil sharply, springing away from the bed.

“No,” Athelstan hisses between gritted teeth.

“I want you to know that…” It’s hard to keep the hurt from his face. “You can join us. Anytime you want.”

“No,” Athelstan repeats with more force, shaking his head. He stays silent for a few seconds, then juts his chin out. “Unless my master orders me to do so.”

Ragnar doubts he will ever cradle Athelstan in his arms again.

***

Every night, Athelstan slips away in his little room. And every day, Ragnar feels like he is himself drifting away from Lagertha. He is losing them both.

It is almost a relief to leave for Götaland, although the relief doesn’t last for long. Approximately one night, the one he spends with Aslaug. If he had known what it would cause months later, Ragnar would have done things differently.

Lagertha leaves and Aslaug stays, that’s what the Gods decided. That’s what Ragnar brought on himself.

On the first night Ragnar spends with Aslaug in his bed, he waits until his wife has fallen asleep to leave their bedroom. His heart pounds in his chest as he reaches Athelstan’s room, ready for another rejection. For Athelstan to remind him how he fucked everything up.

The room is dark but Ragnar can still make out Athelstan’s body under the covers. When he gets closer, he can’t help sitting next to him, willing more than even to shake him awake and find the comfort they used to give each other. He decides against it eventually, and moves away from the bed.

He stops when Athelstan’s fingers close around his wrist. For a split second, Ragnar fears what expression he will discover on Athelstan’s features. Still, he turns to him, because Athelstan’s hold won’t loosen, keeping him there.

“Ragnar.”

It is nothing more than a whisper, but it is enough.

Whatever uncertainty Ragnar had, it disappears when he comes face to face with Athelstan. He forgets everything about keeping his distance as soon as he discovers the slave’s reddened eyes. Ragnar lets Athelstan pulls him back on the bed and finally, he can wrap his arms around those frail shoulders.

“I miss her”, Athelstan says against his skin, voice a little rough.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry for Uppsala, for making Lagertha leave. It is only fair to apologize to Athelstan, for he loved her too.

“I miss you,” Athelstan replies.

Tonight, Ragnar doesn’t go back to his bedroom. His sleep is scarce and his dreams don’t bring him any peace, but the man lying beside him does give him some hope.

***

Life starts feeling less miserable months later, when Ragnar teaches Athelstan how to fight. They spend hours together, the young man learning how to duck away from a weapon, where to give a lethal wound, and Ragnar falling a little more in love with him each time Athelstan’s mouth curls into a daring grin. Each time he surprises Ragnar by throwing him off balance or successfully wrestling away from the Northman’s grip. Ragnar is teaching him how to kill and save his life but in a way, they’ve never been so carefree.

Besides, it brings a new tone to their times in bed, and Ragnar isn’t one to complain. Now, whenever Ragnar can sneak away from his marital bed, Athelstan makes him earn the night they’re going to spend together. They roll on the bed, laughter barely stifled, each of them trying to gain the upper hand, until Ragnar uses the advantage of his height and weight to pin Athelstan down on the mattress. He suspects Athelstan could make it much harder if he wanted to. Yet the happy surrendering is part of their game, as much as the loving bites or the provoking stares.

Above all, what Ragnar loves the most is that sometimes he wakes up to Athelstan sprawled on his back, stretched and vulnerable. Trusting, once again.

***

Taking Athelstan on raids was the initial aim behind the training. It was planned, all along. What wasn’t planned was his decision to stay behind.

The long nights Ragnar spend alone –with Aslaug, but alone– in Kattegat weren’t planned. Nor was the news of Athelstan’s possible death.

Ragnar barely sleeps anymore.

***

The Gods must have forgiven Ragnar for the Uppsala mess, because Athelstan is alive and chooses Ragnar over what used to be his country.

Ragnar goes to Athelstan the night they arrive back home, and he should understand something has changed when Athelstan welcomes him with a weary smile, eyes less glinting than before. He fists his hands into Ragnar’s tunic and keeps him fiercely close, even when he falls asleep.

If Ragnar were to guess, he would say this has something to do with the ugly scars on Athelstan’s hands and feet. When he thinks about them, he hates the whole world.

That night, the Northman starts awake upon hearing a strangled whimper. It takes him a moment to understand that it comes from Athelstan. The young man is shaking against him, thrashing in the bed.

“Athelstan.”

Ragnar tries to wake him up, but Athelstan flinches when he rests his hand on his cheek.

“No, no, no, no…”

An agonizing whimper follows the mumbled words and Ragnar shakes him in earnest, desperate to make it stop. He knows it is not a nightmare, not really. At last, Athelstan’s eyes open, and he wrenches himself away from Ragnar, clutching his hands against his chest.

“It’s over, Athelstan,” Ragnar whispers. “You’re home.”

“I was… I…”

Athelstan lets his head fall down with a sigh.

“I thought the nightmares were gone. Perhaps you shouldn’t stay. I don’t think you will sleep much with m–”

“Shh.”

Ragnar shifts closer, not too fast, so that Athelstan can stop him if needed, but his lover gives him a grateful smile and rolls on his side towards him.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” Ragnar promises.

“Then you’ll never leave.”

“So be it.”

 

No, they don’t wrestle on the bed anymore, at least for now. Instead, once they are warm and hidden under the furs, Ragnar takes Athelstan’s hands and massages his palms slowly, until Athelstan sighs in relief. For Athelstan will never say a word about it, but Ragnar sees him wincing while he rubs his hands when he thinks no one watches. He doesn’t fail to notice how Athelstan stares murderously at his scars whenever he drops a tool after a long day of work, his aching bones and muscles failing him.

Therefore, Ragnar makes it his mission to soothe the pain away, to rub and stroke until Athelstan isn’t hurting anymore. The pain always comes back the following day and Athelstan stills clings to Ragnar at night, but the nightmares start to fade away.

***

Years later, Athelstan finds his God again and tells Ragnar some nonsense about leaving. Leaving!

“You cannot leave me!” Ragnar shouts. “I love you.”

How can he think about leaving? After all they did to make sure they would stay together, how can he believe they will be fine without each other?

Ragnar’s breath hitches when he realizes Athelstan doesn’t plan on being fine. He doesn’t plan on living without Ragnar. He just doesn’t plan on living, that’s all. But Ragnar won’t have that. He won’t have any god, be it Christian, Norse of whatever other god that could possibly want Athelstan –and somehow, he can’t blame them, because he knows what it’s like to want Athelstan– tear him away from this world. Not yet and not without Ragnar. It is a package deal.

However, the Gods might not be Ragnar’s biggest concern. He has seen Floki’s obsession with Athelstan. The shipbuilder isn’t very subtle about it.

Ragnar asks Athelstan to move back into the Great Hall, and thankfully Athelstan isn’t stubborn about it. They spend every night together –Aslaug stopped waiting for Ragnar a long time ago anyway– and now Ragnar is the one clinging to Athelstan.

***

The raid on Paris is hard and long, but they figure out a way to get into the city, with the help of Athelstan’s cross and a very convenient baptism. This way, when Athelstan’s God claims him, he won’t be able to deny Ragnar’s entry into Heaven.

Despite their success, Floki isn’t appeased. Perhaps because it was more Athelstan’s success than his, even if all of them had a role to play in their victory. Floki will never stop. The thought hits Ragnar one early morning, as he threads his fingers between Athelstan’s curls.

“We should leave,” he whispers.

Athelstan, sprawled over Ragnar’s chest, lets out a sleepy sigh.

“We’re leaving in a week.”

“No, the two of us, I mean.”

That gets him Athelstan’s undivided attention.

“We should leave together,” Ragnar insists. “You’re in danger here, we both know it.”

“What about your kingdom?”

“Bjorn is a man now. I know he will be able to rule. Besides, he will have Lagertha by his side.”

“What about your sons? Your wife, your brother?”

“I love you.”

It shouldn’t be Ragnar’s answer to everything, and yet it is. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to offer any other answer. Athelstan tilts his head to the side, searching Ragnar’s eyes.

“Where would we go then?”

“I don’t know. East. We’ll find new lands to explore, or perhaps we’ll stop when we find a quiet place to farm. A little house far from any village, where it will be silent so you can read without being distracted.”

Yes, when the Franks paid them to leave, Ragnar made sure they would include books and scrolls in the treasure. That puzzled them as much as the baptism request.

“Books are heavy,” Athelstan points out. “They will slow us down.”

“We have horses.”

“Ragnar.”

Athelstan doesn’t sound reproachful, merely disbelieving and full of hope at the same time. Ragnar takes his hands, kisses one scar. Every day, they remind him of what happened when Athelstan was away, and of what will happen if Ragnar doesn’t do anything.

“I want you to live, Athelstan.”

***

The next morning, maybe an hour before dawn, Ragnar takes a bag full of food, some gold and silver –not even his whole share of the treasure– and books, then steps out of his tent. The camp is quiet, everyone still asleep. Ragnar turns back towards the tent, where Athelstan stands with his own bag thrown across his shoulder. They share a smile and Athelstan threads their fingers together.

They saddle their horses within minutes and head out of the camp, only stopping when a warrior on watch duty notices them.

“We’re going for a day,” Ragnar whispers to him. “Don’t expect us too soon.”

Whether the warrior notices their bags or not, he doesn’t comment on it, just nods his understanding.

When they are far enough, Athelstan flashes him a grin. Ragnar mirrors it with such strength that his cheeks hurt. Their horses break into a gallop and in no time the camp disappears behind them.

Tonight, they will probably sleep in a clearing or under a tree. Maybe in the cold, or under the rain. But Ragnar will have Athelstan curled into him, as it should always be, and they will be together. Always together.

**Author's Note:**

> I agree this ending isn't very realistic, but that's my headcanon ;) They find their quiet place or they travel until they discover China, or both. But they live, dammit!


End file.
